


Viva Las Vegas

by Denise



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-06
Updated: 2012-07-06
Packaged: 2017-11-09 07:34:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/452951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Denise/pseuds/Denise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Rare Pairings Ficathon. The challenge was to put into the story: Las Vegas, Shopping, Chocolate with no death, no one dating anyone else, no unhappy ending</p>
            </blockquote>





	Viva Las Vegas

Title-  Viva Las Vegas

Author- Denise

Category- Sam/Paul

Season- 9

Spoilers – Just general ones for s9

Content Level –  Older kids

Content Warning-   Nothing really

Summary- Written for the Rare Pairings Ficathon. The challenge was to put into the story: Las Vegas, Shopping, Chocolate with no death, no one dating anyone else, no unhappy ending

Disclaimer: Stargate Sg-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, Sci-fi and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author.

 

Viva Las Vegas

By

Denise

 

 

 

"I'll see you on Monday."

 

Sam looked up, the voice of her co-worker pulling her attention from the paperwork on her desk. "What?" She glanced at the calendar confirming that it was indeed Wednesday.

 

"I'm taking a long weekend, remember?" Major Kassidy Long reminded.

 

"Right," Sam said, belatedly recalling that her co-worker had told her that she was taking time off because of her daughter's wedding. "I just forgot."

 

"You're gonna be ok?" Kassidy asked, her eyes drifting across the work table covered with carefully tagged items. There were only the two of them working here at the moment. The newly expanded research and development wing at Area 51 was due to have a staff of fifteen. But who that fifteen would be was waiting on Sam to wade through the personnel files and choose her staff. Which was something she really needed to do, if she could just dig herself out from under the other paperwork long enough to have a few hours to read the files.

 

"I'll be fine," she said. "Maybe I'll get motivated and find us some help," Sam smiled, doing her best to reassure the woman. Kassidy was a good officer and a potentially good friend. The two of them got along rather well. Kassidy had an uncanny knack for understanding alien tech, so much so that Sam had wondered why the woman wasn't at the SGC. And she'd even asked her about it.

 

'My family is here and my kids are here,' she'd replied. And Kassidy's family was more important than a high risk job hundreds of miles away. "This stuff has been here for months," Kassidy said. "A little while longer won't make a difference."

 

"I'll be good," Sam promised. She glanced at her watch. "Now go, before your husband gets mad at me for holding up the mother of the bride."

 

Kassidy left and Sam sighed, staring at the pile of papers in front of her for a few minutes before she pushed them aside and leaned forward, propping her head in her hands. She stared listlessly around the room and sighed again, this time mindlessly spinning her pen on the smooth countertop.

 

The feeling that she'd made a huge mistake reared its ugly head. It wasn't a new feeling, rather one that had plagued her ever since her return from the general's cabin in Minnesota. The goa'uld were gone. Defeated and no longer a threat to Earth. Which meant that the SGC's primary directive no longer existed. And that the SGC really had no reason to keep existing.

 

The general was in DC and was going to fill General Hammond's position as the head of Homeworld Security. Teal'c was going back to the Jaffa and Daniel was pulling every string imaginable to get sent to Atlantis.

 

Which left her leading a team of one.

 

She knew that she could have stayed at the SGC. General Landry had made that very clear. He'd even allow her to pick her own team and suggested that she could even choose her own missions.

 

It was a generous offer, but one she'd refused. In part because she was tired. Tired of sleeping on the ground and dragging a pack full or dirt halfway across a planet. She was tired of hostile natives and unknown animal life. Tired of gatelag and tired of the stress.

 

But, more than that, she simply didn't want to keep doing the same old thing with all new people. She missed her friends, missed the camaraderie, missed Teal'c's quiet support and Daniel's sharp wit.

 

Hell, she even missed the general's pissy moods and quirky orders. "Oh face it," she said aloud. "You're getting too damn old."

 

"Oh I hope not," a voice drawled, pulling Sam from her bout of self-pity. "If I recall correctly, you're all of six months older than I am."

 

She spun in her chair, smiling as she recognized the voice. "Major Davis," she greeted, getting up from her chair. "What brings you out to Nevada?"

 

"Colonel Carter. Just playing the errand boy." He shook her hand then sat down. "And I had to see it for myself."

 

"The lowly research and development department?" she teased, glancing around at the distinctly Unitarian work area. Although there were some secluded labs and work areas, most of the R&D department consisted of one large room separated into a half dozen individual work spaces each made up of a large table and computer.

 

There were several scanners scattered across the room as well as shelves lining the walls. There were no external windows, but the room was brightly lit and open.

 

Sam rather liked the layout. There was just enough space between the work stations to allow for privacy, but not so much to make secrecy easy. It was a design that she was in favor of, especially in light of the recent scandals involving the group. The projects they were working on had to be secret from the general public, even from most of the Air Force itself. But they didn't need to be secret from each other. In fact, she was sure that less secrecy and more collaboration could only be for the best and make them more productive.

 

"No," Major Davis said. "You at a desk job."

 

Sam smiled. "Never underestimate the appeal of regular hours."

 

"Where's the fun in that?" he asked.

 

"You'd be surprised," she shot back, bristling at the perceived censure. It was her life and her career and she could do with it as she wanted.

 

He shrugged, not put off by her tone. "I can see the appeal." He leaned back in his chair. "You're talking to the guy that thinks he's roughing it when the cable goes out. That whole sleeping on the ground, peeing behind a bush – forget it." He made a sweeping gesture with his hand. "I admire those that can do it, especially people that can do it on alien planets."

 

Sam sighed, relaxing a bit. "It had its moments," she said, smiling again. "Seriously, what brings you out to Nevada?"

 

"I’m running an errand for General O'Neill."

 

"Really?"

 

"Yep. Part of my job description now. Chief errand boy."

 

"You're not just his errand boy. I happen to know that General O'Neill depends on you quite a bit," she reassured.

 

"And refrains from shooting me on a regular basis."

 

"See," Sam said. "He only threatens to shoot those he really likes."

 

Paul smiled and shrugged. "I never knew that I was so well liked," he muttered. "Anyway, the general had some papers that he needed General Waters to sign. Stuff he didn't want to trust to a courier, so here I am."

 

Sam frowned. "General Waters is home recovering from surgery," she said. "He's been on Med Leave for the last three weeks after he took a tumble down the stairs."

 

"I know," Paul answered. "I'm going to run the papers by his house tomorrow."

 

Sam looked at her watch. "It's only 1745. I’m sure he's awake. It'd probably only take a couple of hours to drive there and back."

 

Paul nodded. "And then I'll spend three hours in a plane to arrive back in DC in the middle of the night and have to report in at 0730." He grinned ruefully. "Not my idea of fun."

 

"Doesn't sound like it," Sam agreed.

 

Paul grinned. "Instead I'm going to grab a bunk at the BOQ and head over in the morning. That'll get me back to DC by early to mid afternoon. I can report in, hand the papers to General O'Neill and probably head home early."

 

"Definitely sounds like a better plan," Sam agreed.

 

"Which leaves me one night in town with nothing to do."

 

"This is Las Vegas, there's always something to do," she replied.

 

"Do you have any suggestions?"

 

"What?"

 

"I have about six hours, what do you suggest?" he asked.

 

She frowned. "You know, I really don't sight see much—"

 

Paul frowned. "You've been here six months."

 

"Here being the operative word," she interrupted. "There's been so much to do organizing things." She shrugged. "I just haven't gotten around to doing the whole tourist thing."

 

"Why not now?"

 

"Excuse me?"

 

"Why not do it now? I want to see Vegas, you haven't seen Vegas, sounds like a match made in heaven."

 

Sam shook her head. "I have a ton of stuff to get done," she said. "My assistant is off for a long weekend—"

 

"Your CO is home in bed," he interrupted. "And I have it on very good authority that people in Washington are already impressed with the progress you've made."

 

"Really?"

 

"Very much so. It's all I ever hear. 'Colonel Carter figured this out', 'Colonel Carter figured that out', 'It's too bad we can't clone Colonel Carter."

 

Sam frowned. "Who said that?" she asked, not sure if she should be flattered or freaked out.

 

"Okay, I made up the last part, but seriously, you've made fantastic strides and it hasn't gone unnoticed. Besides, one of the perks of that desk job is to work less than twelve hours a day." He leaned forward. "Whatta you say?

 

Sam frowned. "I don't—"

 

"Sam, please. Don't condemn me to an evening in the BOQ and commissary food for dinner."

 

Sam stared at him for a second. She normally socialized very little with other officers, both here and at the SGC. It was a long developed habit, first born out of necessity and her reluctance to socialize too much with the males of the base – an innocent act that could be misconstrued in so many ways.

 

SG-1's heavy mission schedule came into play and finally, when she felt comfortable enough to socialize she discovered that she already had a bit of a reputation as the 'ice queen', seen as either someone to be scared of or a conquest to be made.

 

So she'd stopped trying, contenting herself with the circle of her friends. But somehow she didn't feel that Paul fit into either of those categories. He sure as hell didn't need to suck up to her or curry favor. In the grand scheme of things, his job as General O'Neill's aide probably trumped hers, even if he was still a major.

 

And second, she sensed no ulterior motive in his suggestion. He didn't strike her as a man on the prowl, but simply someone that wanted some company. "Okay," she agreed. "On one condition."

 

"Name it."

 

"You scare up some civvies. If we're gonna play tourist, we're gonna play tourist."

 

"I think I can manage that," he said. "If you can give me fifteen minutes."

 

"Deal. Why don't you go change. I'll shut things down here, change myself and meet you at the front gate."

 

Paul got to his feet. "Sounds like a plan." He started to leave the room then turned back. "How will I recognize your car?"

 

Sam grinned. "Trust me, you can't miss it."

 

 

 

/\/\/\/\/\

 

 

 

Paul climbed off the back of the bike, desperately hoping that no one could tell just how much his knees were shaking.

 

Sam parked the motorcycle and locked the helmet to a hook behind the seat before turning to face him, a grin on her face. "You never struck me as the motorcycle type," he said, still not sure which part had shaken him up more. Her break neck speed – at least until she’d hit the heavy traffic of the Strip, or how she’d navigated said heavy traffic, zooming in and around the slower cars.

 

"That’s probably because you’ve never seen me outside of the SGC before," she said.

 

"You’re right, I haven’t," he said. "Where to?" he asked.

 

Sam shrugged. "Dunno. The Strip runs for several miles and we're near the south end of it."

 

"Let's just walk then," he suggested. The two of them set out, quickly merging into the non-stop pedestrian traffic of the Las Vegas Strip. Even though it was dark, it was still early, just past 1800 local time. "It's hard to believe that it's freezing back in DC," he said.

With the sun down, the dry desert air chilled down quickly, but it was still a lot warmer than the weather he'd left just a few hours before.

 

"And back in Colorado too," she said, shoving her hands into the pocket of her jacket.

 

"Yeah. Can't say that I miss it," he said, glancing over when she didn't respond. "Do you like the desert?" he asked, stepping to the side to let a large group of young men pass. From their short hair cuts and cocky attitude, he guessed that they were pilots from Nellis.

 

"Vegas is better than the last one I was in," she said, glancing over at him. "They don't tend to shoot at you here."

 

"Right," he said, remembering the bits of her file he'd read. "Iraq wasn't it?"

 

"Yeah, how about you? Ever spend any time overseas?"

 

He shook his head. "Not really. The odd trip or short TDY. Nothing too long or anywhere too exciting."

 

She chuckled. "I’m not sure if I'd call AWACS exciting. Twelve to twenty-four hours staring at little green dots on a screen."

 

He shrugged. "I spend half my day arranging meetings and the other half sitting in them watching people try to out-ego each other."

 

"Does the general have a lot of meetings?" she asked, her voice deliberately casual.

 

"All day, every day," he replied. "Although I've lost count of the number of times when an 'emergency' has come up," he said, making little quote signs with his hands.

 

"He still does that?"

 

"They all do that," he answered. "We have this code. If he says 'where's my next meeting' I'm supposed to wait about ten minutes before I reluctantly knock on the door and remind him about the meeting."

 

"That doesn't exist."  
  


"Right. Then he has the option to bail if he wants to, or to tell me to cancel it," he explained.

 

She shook her head. "It's kind of scary that you have that much worked out."

 

He shrugged. "Part and parcel of DC. City's filled with people that can't stand each other but can't tell each other off either. And every single one of them has their own excuse. If Congressman Keller doesn't want to talk to you, he's 'in a meeting', General Sherwood is perpetually 'on the phone'.

 

"And General O'Neill?"

 

"I'll alternate," Paul said. "Actually, he's not big on excuses or rules either." She nodded. Paul spied a vendor. "Let's get a drink," he suggested, pointing towards the person selling giant margaritas and daiquaries in narrow plastic cups, nearly three feet tall.

 

"Those are for tourists," she said.

 

"And I'm a tourist," he replied. "Come on." He ignored her protest and pulled her over to the stand, quickly purchasing two drinks.

 

"I feel like an idiot," she muttered.

 

"Drink a little and you won't care," he urged.

 

They kept walking down the Strip, both pausing to enjoy the spectacle of screaming people riding the roller coaster around New York, New York. "You know, the general does have one rule."

 

"Always be five minutes early?" she said.

 

"Okay, two. Anyone from Cheyenne Mountain calls, they get put through, no matter what." She stopped walking and glanced over at him. "Same with certain folks from Nellis."

 

"Really?"

 

"Yep."

 

"I always figured that he'd be too busy with meetings and stuff."

 

"Trust me, he would probably rather hear the most boring mission report from you guys than attend some of his meetings."

 

He stopped dead in his tracks, much to the annoyance of the dozens of tourists behind him. "Paul?"

 

"The M&M Store?" he asked, frowning at the sight of a five story tall M&M bag. "They have a whole store dedicated to M&M's?"

 

Sam smiled and took a drink from the giant cup in her hand. "Looks like it," she said, pulling Paul out of the main flow of pedestrians.

 

"What do they do? Have a floor for each color?"

 

She shrugged. "Let's go see." She walked towards the store and went inside, leaving Paul to follow.

 

He trailed her across the threshold, shaking his head slightly at the sight of all things M&M. Bins of stuffed M&M's in Star Wars costumes stood between giant clear plastic tubes that stretched to the ceiling and were filled with hundreds of pounds of candy covered chocolate. He followed her further and further into the store, marveling at the wide variety of merchandise. They wandered through the second, third and fourth floors, passing bins and shelves of toys, clocks, t-shirts, pencils and jewelry.

 

It seemed that anything and everything capable of holding the M&M logo had one on it.

"This place looks like a chocoholic's wet dream," he muttered.

 

"A true chocoholic thinks American chocolate is crap," Sam said, taking a drink as she joined him. "The British and German stuff is better."

 

"There's a difference?"

 

"Oh yeah." She picked up a child sized t-shirt. "But kids don't know the difference." He raised his eyebrows at her. "I have a niece and nephew. Who would probably love something from Auntie Sam."

 

He shrugged. "You know, my nephews might too. My sister has two kids, twin boys," he explained.

 

"How old?"

 

"Four."

 

"That's a fun age."

 

He nodded. "Do you spend  a lot of time with your niece and nephew?"

 

She shook her head. "Unfortunately not. I actually didn't see them for a few years. It wasn't until…oh a little after my dad met Selmac that things changed." He looked at her, the non-chalance in her voice making him frown.

 

"You didn't get along?"

 

She shook her head again, picking up a stuffed bear wearing a M&M t-shirt. "Mark's not too keen on the military so when I joined up that pretty much did it for us." She set the bear down with a small sigh and Paul stood there for a few seconds, unsure what to say.

 

"My dad hates my job and the military," he confessed. "He actually got arrested a time or two back in the sixties." Sam frowned at him and he nodded. "Yep, dad and mom are hippies. Played hell with my security clearance."

 

"Really?"

 

"Oh yeah. I'm sure it was a breeze for you with your father and all."

 

"Don't be so sure. Being the general's daughter isn't all it's cracked up to be." He looked at her, surprised to hear a note of bitterness in her voice. "Do you have any idea how many guys wanted to date me hoping that my dad would help their career? Either that or they just wanted the bragging rights of 'bagging daddy's little girl'." She made a face, rolling here eyes.

 

"Was it really that bad?"

 

She shrugged. "Depends. At least it prepared me for 'she slept her way to the promotion'.

 

"Try 'he slept his way'," he said. She glanced over at him. "Oh yeah. Assholes are universal," he said. "So are jealous assholes."

 

"You have a point there," she conceded.

 

He grinned. "Besides, all those people that gave you crap, where are they now?"

 

She shrugged. "Haven't  heard from them in years."

 

"My point exactly." He picked two bears up from the display. "I'm going to get these for my nephews and maybe we can check out more of the Strip."

 

Sam agreed and picked up two bears herself, tucking them under her arm so that she could still hang onto her drink.

 

In just a few minutes, they had their purchases paid for and were back outside. Despite it being totally dark, it was still pleasantly warm outside. Paul drank more of his margarita, easily settling into the flow of people.

 

They ambled down the street, climbing up and down the high pedestrian crossing. In an effort to east congestion, the Strip had been renovated several years ago and was now outfitted with high crosswalks over the street, allowing for both the constant flow of cars and people. It did mean that they did have to ride and escalator up to the crosswalks every couple of blocks, but that inconvenience was nothing compared to having to wait to cross the street.

 

They walked past the MGM casino and Paul looked over, his eyes drawn to the impressive sight of the giant pyramid of the Luxor and it's brilliant beam of light blasting into space.

 

"Are you hungry?" he asked. "There were a couple of guys in the BOQ raving about the buffet there."

 

Sam shook her head, shuddering slightly. "Anywhere but there," she said.

 

"Is it bad?"

 

"The last meal I went to inside a pyramid, we ended up in a dungeon."

 

"Ah."

 

"Yeah," she said. "How about the Excalibur?" she suggested, referring to the medieval themed casino.

 

"So you've never run afoul of any violent sword bearing aliens?" he teased.

 

"Not yet."

 

The two of them turned around and retraced their steps, making they way back toward the high turrets of the faux castle. They crossed the moat and entered the casino, following the signs to the large buffet.

 

They both filled their plates and enjoyed their dinner, each making several trips back to sample as many of the dishes as possible.

 

Almost an hour later, having thoroughly exhausted the buffet, they wandered back out onto the street. "I suppose we should head back," Paul said, looking at his watch.

 

"I do have to be in early tomorrow," Sam said.

 

They walked back up the Strip and retrieved Sam's bike. Paul held onto their purchases as she drove back to the base, her pace a bit more sedate than it had been on the way down. She flashed her clearance at the front gate and drove him to the BOQ. "Do you have a long drive home?" Paul asked, sorting out the bags and handing hers to her.

 

Sam shook her head. "I'm just over at base housing," she said. "I haven't gotten around to finding anything yet."

 

Paul nodded. "I’m going to try and catch General Waters first thing and see if I can get an early hop back to DC."

 

"I probably won't see you then," she said. "Thanks for the evening."

 

"Thank you for the ride." Sam put her helmet on and reached for the ignition. "Remember what I said," he reminded, raising his voice. She looked at him. "I have permission to put the President on hold if one of  you guys call. He misses you, all of you. A lot more than he's willing to admit."

 

"I'll remember," Sam promised. She gently revved her bike and pulled away from the curb, quickly driving out of sight. Paul stood there for a minute, enjoying the unimpeded view of the stars before he fished the key out of his pocket and retreated indoors where a standard issue military bed awaited.

 

 

/\/\/\/\/\

 

 

Paul Davis walked into the office, casting a glance at Helen, General O'Neill's secretary. "You're late," she said, looking over the clock.

 

"Bad weather," he excused. "Sorry, how is he?" he asked, nodding towards the general's door.

 

"Be glad he's not armed," she said.

 

"That bad?"

 

"Worse."

 

"And he has a meeting with appropriations this afternoon, doesn't he?" Paul asked.

Helen smiled. "I'm giving serious consideration to not coming back from lunch."

 

The door to the general's office opened and Helen straightened in her seat as Paul moved towards his own desk. "Helen, can you find a polite way to tell Senator Moron that there's no way I'm going to get his kid into the academy just to make his resume look good." He handed her a letter. "If anyone even remotely related to appropriations calls tell them I died and…." He broke off and looked at Paul. "You're back?"

 

"Yes, sir. Sorry I wasn't here this morning."

 

"Hell, don't be sorry. I wish I could play hookey. What's next on my schedule?" he asked Helen. "Am I the ass kisser or the ass kissee?"

 

Paul sighed, wincing at the cynicism in his boss' voice. "Congressman Seacrest," Helen answered.

 

The outer door flew open and Paul looked up, noting that General O'Neill's hand dropped to his waist where his sidearm would normally be. "What is the meaning of this?" Senator Richards demanded, waving a piece of paper in his hand.

 

"I seem to recall it being pretty self explanatory," O'Neill said, squaring off to face the man. "I am not recommending that the SGC changes its munitions supplier to score you points at home." The phone rang and Helen picked it up.

 

"I don't know who the hell you think you are—"

 

"Excuse me, sir," she said, placing her hand over the receiver. O'Neill looked over at her, pointedly turning his back on the senator. "I have a Colonel Carter on the phone for you."

 

"Really?" Paul watched a smile creep across the man's face. The first smile that he'd seen in weeks.

 

"Yes, sir."

 

O'Neill glanced back at the Senator. "Excuse me, Ted," he said, emphasizing the man's name. "I happen to have some important people to speak to. I’m sure you can find your way out." He spun on his heel and retreated back into his office, leaving Paul and Helen alone with the sputtering senator.

 

"Is there anything I can help you with, sir," Paul asked, smiling politely.

 

The man glared and huffed before stalking from the office, slamming the door behind him. Paul glanced over at Helen before taking his seat. "Care to fill me in on what just happened?" she asked.

 

"General O'Neill just handed Senator Richards his ego," he said.

 

"Yes," she said, getting up to move closer to his desk. "And isn't it convenient that the general's old friend happened to call just when his mood is due to take a nose dive?"

 

Paul looked up at her. "Yes, isn't it."

 

She smiled, shaking her head slightly. "Why do I have a funny feeling that you're going to be making a lot of visits to the general's old friends?" she asked.

 

"I hope so," he said, thinking of a certain blonde officer. "I certainly hope so."

 

 

~Fin~


End file.
